fire and the flood
by teamginger
Summary: Clarke is a horrible horse person, but she's able to find an ounce of comfort in riding.
Clarke saw the red smoke coming off the tower in Polis from where she rode in the forest, miles away. She pulled her horse to halt and allowed herself a brief moment to think of Lexa. Pulling the flame from her bra, she stared at it sitting in the palm of her hand. She _wanted,_ more than anything, for Lexa to be inside it, but the more she thought of it, the more she doubted.

Her horse- no, Lexa's horse, shifted uneasily beneath her. Nearly dropping the flame, Clarke clutched at the reins desperately in an attempt to get the animal to settle down. While she had certainly improved in riding, she still lacked confidence atop the steed. She continuously reminded herself that this was Lexa's ride of choice, it had to be trustworthy. Clarke was starting to appreciate what a skilled rider Lexa was for being able to control this wild creature.

She thought somewhat fondly of when she'd learned how to ride. Lexa had taught her, of course, and it took an entire week for Clarke to get to the point where she felt comfortable riding without Lexa holding on to the reins. Lexa pretended that she didn't see whenever Clarke made a mistake, which was a lot, and quietly made a suggestion on how to fix it. Clarke was starting to wish she had taken the quiet, reliable horse that she had learned to ride on, rather than the horse that Lexa favourited out of some quest to collect every physical thing she had of hers.

Stuffing the chip back into her bra, Clarke took the reins in both hands and spurred the horse into a choppy canter. It wasn't comfortable by any means, but Clarke wasn't looking for comfort. She was looking for Lincoln.

The sky faded from blue to grey to black as night set over the forest. It was harder to navigate in the dark, but time wasn't on Clarke's side and she needed to get to Luna. _Lexa_ needed her to get to Luna.

She found Octavia first, stumbling through the woods.

"Octavia!" Clarke called to the girl, her heart jumping into her throat as she noticed the way Octavia walked by leaning from tree to tree. Her horse refused to stand still once again, so Clarke simply jumped off. She'd had enough of fighting the beast. Her legs were stiff and walking on solid ground felt like walking on the moon, but she did her best to get to Octavia.

"Shouldn't you be at Polis?" Octavia asked, but surprisingly, her tone wasn't accusatory. She stood a little straighter in front of Clarke, making Clarke suspect that it wasn't injury that was causing Octavia to walk so strangely.

"I have to find Luna," Clarke insisted. Octavia's eyes glinted at the mention of her name. "Ontari took the throne by force. She's going to wipe out our people, and I can't accept that she'll be the next Heda. Luna is the only other Grounder who can take Lexa's place. Do you know where Lincoln is? He knows how to find her."

Octavia's throat worked, and dread sparked in Clarke's stomach, but she didn't want to jump to conclusions. She needed to hear Octavia say it before she would believe it.

"He's dead," Octavia replied grimly. "Let Ontari wipe out the sky rats. They deserve it."

Clarke was stunned. She was about to open up her mouth to say something comforting, but Octavia spoke first.

"However, the only thing that could possibly make this whole situation worse is if the _Azgeda_ rule the Grounders, so I'll help you as best I can," Octavia offered. "My horse is back at Arkadia. I'll meet you back here in half an hour."

Again, Clarke was about to open her mouth and protest, but Octavia had already set off on her way, leaving Clarke alone with Lexa's psycho horse.

"Looks like it's just you and me, Satan," Clarke sighed, slumping down against a tree. She didn't like the idea of being stationary in the woods for so long- especially because the first place that Ontari and her people would look for her would be at Arkadia.

Clarke watched as the horse nibbled at some grass that poked through the leaves that littered the forest floor. Using her foot, Clarke cleared a swath of leaves to reveal some blades of dead grass under it.

"I miss her, you know," Clarke admitted. "It might not be very obvious, but I do. I have to make this right, for her."

"This is stupid, you're a horse," Clarke muttered, crossing her arms. She felt her eyes sting with tears as she remembered Lexa's last words. _You were right, Clarke. Life is about more than just surviving._ It was a funny kind of parallel, because here was Clarke, thinking that Lexa was right, and that love really was weakness. She felt weakness in every cell of her body.

"I can't tell anyone about the way I felt about her, but you must be pretty good at keeping secrets, right?" Clarke added. "I loved her. I never said it out loud, but I did. And I think maybe she loved me too."

Again, she was met with silence as the horse shifted to a new spot to eat grass. Clarke reached out and brushed it's forelock out of it's eyes. She tried to look at the animal objectively. It was quite beautiful, like something out of a story. Not quite pure white, but remarkable none-the-less. It had big eyes, and Clarke didn't know much about horses but she knew that the Grounders thought that big eyes were a sign of trustworthiness. It was no wonder that Lexa chose this horse.

"And she must've loved you too, because I don't know how else she would've put up with you," Clarke muttered. "Do you miss Lexa too?"

At the mention of her name, the horse lifted its head slightly, and it wasn't even that significant, it probably just heard something rustling in the woods, but the idea that this horse might be aching as much as her over the loss of Lexa pushed Clarke over the edge. She allowed herself to cry without restraint and let her grief overcome her for a while. She'd read about this, it was cathartic, and perhaps it would help her.

However, by the time Clarke finished crying, she felt no better or no worse than she did before. She felt nothing. All she knew was that there was a massive hole in her heart where Lexa used to be, and the only hope she had of having it filled resided inside the flame. And she had to make sure it got into the right hands.

She saw Octavia coming towards her, and she used her sleeve to wipe the tears from her face.

"Come on, Satan," Clarke said, tossing the reins over his head and swinging into the saddle ungracefully. The scene elicited a laugh from Octavia, who was a much more experienced rider than Clarke, like everyone else, it seemed. But, if it made Octavia happy for even just a moment, Clarke would willingly endure the embarrassment.


End file.
